


Follow the Sun

by borage (haechansheaven)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/borage
Summary: He wonders if any of the fortune tellers his mother went to as he grew up spoke of a star that would shake Keiji’s very world and, after that, everyone else’s.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Follow the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> light spoilers up to chapter 400!

While learning to stand on his own two feet, Keiji met Koutarou. And perhaps _met_ is too strong of a word. He had, quite literally, leapt into his life, chin pointed towards the sky, with more dreams than just his own resting on his shoulders. His appearance was a sign—a reset—for Keiji, who suddenly had a goal, be it a short-term one. Bokuto Koutarou was, and is, a force in his life. He wonders if any of the fortune tellers his mother went to as he grew up spoke of a star that would shake Keiji’s very world and, after that, everyone else’s.

At sixteen, Keiji had a fleeting thought—the most fleeting of fleeting thoughts, really—that perhaps he would be allowed to stand beside Koutarou for longer than fate calls for him to. That, beyond the court, there will still be Keiji and Koutarou standing in front of the world, together. It’s the nice, fleeting sort of thought that keeps Keiji floating high in the air until he’s forcefully dragged back to the ground, shoulders pressed into the dirt, lungs breathing in nothing but dust.

When Koutarou graduates, Keiji is grounded. His proverbial wings are clipped, and he must learn to crawl, walk, _exist_ again. Koutarou is always _there_ , but it’s different, and comfort had allowed Keiji to forget. This is the second time he learns to be an Akaashi Keiji of his own making.

As a child, he was quite severe, and refuted the existence of magic. Koutarou is, probably, a type of magic all on his own. The magic he pulls behind him is nothing short of extraordinary, though it never drifts too far from his side—not at first anyways, because it’s not only his own, but the sort of magic that thrives in the hands of others. It isn’t until he’s gone that he can mold it into what he wants. Keiji watches this change from afar.

In fact, many, if not most things, change with Keiji as the spectator. In a way, he is even an outside body to his own metamorphosis, an entity looking in from the outside. And change drags him towards an unknown destination, much in the same way that Koutarou would push him towards uncertainty, palm of his hand pressed against his spine. A strong touch, reminding him that there is still work to be done. Through it all, Keiji finds that he can smile.

Change used to be hard. He used to pull himself away from it, tips of his fingers burnt with the heat from friction. It’s not that it’s _easy_ , though. Keiji has simply learned. Continues to learn. Koutarou burst into his life like a supernova, resetting his surroundings and providing the base from which things can be created and grow. The Keiji of now is sort of new, a product of the stardust that Koutarou left behind before restructuring himself.

Keiji had just turned twenty when someone asked him if he knew Bokuto Koutarou of the MSBY Black Jackals in high school. The question was a reminder of how fast time passes, and he had laughed, gone home, and sent a message that said, _Bokuto-san, it seems that people are forgetting your glory days at Fukurodani already_ , before sitting at his kitchen table and wondering if he, too, could have still stood on the national stage.

He knew— _knows_ —that the answer is no. Perhaps in another time, with some more dedication, he could have stood on the court a little bit longer. In the end, though, he still would have ended up here. Twenty-two and sitting in the area, watching from afar. He is not the only one watching, waiting, though sometimes it feels that way. Koutarou, after changing the world, has everyone watching his back, accepting the hope he inspires. The world is watching and waiting to see what Koutarou will do next.

People say that one person cannot change the world. Keiji believes that, but thinks that Koutarou could do it, anyways.

After the game it is Keiji, Koutarou, and memories that float in specks of stardust. The Bokuto Koutarou standing in front of him is different. Even if he was never far from Keiji to begin with, everything about him feels different; even if the way he reaches out and presses their palms together feels different. He doesn’t mind, though. They’re both different, really, and he’s known this for a while know.

That’s why they’re drawn to each other. Or Keiji is drawn to Koutarou. He’s not sure. They still stand beside one another, with one another, so it can’t be completely one-sided. It’s what keeps Keiji from feeling selfish for requesting some of Koutarou’s time. That, and the way that Koutarou smiles at him across the table, surface shaking as he recounts another play or something that occurred during practice—things that Keiji could not be there for, but are a part of, anyways.

These dinners are far and few between, supplemented by late-night messages of, _AKAASHI!!!!! Akaashi today we_ …, with a long-winded, never-ending story about something that, from anyone else, would mean nothing. Something about these moments are so lovely, Keiji has to wonder what the catch is.

“Well,” Koutarou, even when not meaning to, fills up all the empty spaces in the world, “Akaashi, what have you been up to?”

Many things, Keiji wants to say. He wants to tell Koutarou about the world that Tenma is building, the job he has, the job he wishes he had, and the way that the world has shrunk in on itself before suddenly expanding to a size so large that he can no longer see the edge. But those are conversations for another time and another place, so Keiji settles on a quaint, “A lot. But I think you’ve been up to more, Bokuto-san.”

“Sure,” Koutarou waves his hands around, chest puffed out, before adding, softly, “But I’d like to hear about you, anyways.”

The time that they spend together, in person, face to face, hand in hand, is small. Perhaps that’s why there isn’t a label for them yet. (There are many reasons, Keiji thinks, and that is perhaps one of them.) It isn’t the distance, and Keiji thinks—knows—that he trusts Koutarou to the edges of the universe and beyond. In another life, perhaps, those are their circumstances. That’s a thought for another day.

Koutarou’s face is everywhere, if Keiji looks for him. Which he does. There isn’t a void left behind from his physical absence. His never-ending search for Koutarou’s face is spurred on by a sense of pride. By an _I was there first, I saw him first_ sort of urge. And beside Koutarou is Shoyou, and Atsumu, and Kiyoomi, and sometimes even Tobio and Wakatoshi. Larger than life, Korai is usually on his own, smile bright. All of them bring memories. Keiji is grateful for that.

Staying in Tokyo isn’t stifling, but it’s saturated with a sort of fondness that Keiji considers letting go of.

First meetings are always overwhelming, and all-encompassing, and as much as Keiji tells himself that he has learned to overcome them, Koutarou is proof that he has not. Koutarou at sixteen, had taken Keiji by the hand and led him to the national stage, a place he never thought he would be brave enough to stand on. And he had stood there more times than he should have been allowed to. In a way, it was as if he stood among the stars.

_I peaked too early_ , he likes to joke, smile pleasant, palm cupping the back of his neck. It isn’t that Keiji thinks he didn’t deserve it. He worked for it—they all did—and to say that it was all a fluke would be an insult to all their hard work and he has never been the sort of man to undermine the effort put in by those around him. They all had their shortcomings. It was because they were together that they could.

One day, Koutarou will grow too big for this place, and the distance between them will threaten to increase, and Keiji will need to decide whether or not he will follow him from this big city to the wide-open world. There’s no doubt that Keiji will go wherever Koutarou goes. It’s just a matter of _when_.

At national tournaments, Koutarou would point out t-shirts, Keiji would shake his head, and that would be that. At twenty-two, he wishes that he had bought them. They would serve as a sort of physical manifestation—a sort of proof you can hold in your hands—that he was there. He’s been there, he’s done things, and Keiji was able to stand by Koutarou’s side. Haruki, at that, had shaken his head.

“The memories mean more to you than a t-shirt would,” he says, rolling his glass between his hands. They no longer save a game from ending, but they save people on the overwhelming silver screen. “Are you letting people get to you?”

A chair drags against the floor, masking the sound of a snort as Akinori takes a seat. “People? Bother Akaashi? In what world?”

“I’m not bothered,” he agrees, silencing his phone. “I was just thinking about how I’m running low on shirts to sleep in. There are holes in a lot of them, but I don’t want to get rid of them until they’re falling apart.”

All of them constantly push forward, towards the future. If Koutarou had taught any of them anything, it is that the future is the only logical next step, and that they can always leave the past behind. The speed at which they move towards the future is of their own choice, though all of them feel inexplicably pulled forward the farther Koutarou sprints ahead. Tatsuki, in a way, followed Koutarou, shining just as brilliantly.

If he looked hard enough, Keiji thinks that he would probably see Tatsuki just as often.

“Shame that Washio and Bokuto couldn’t join us, don’t you think?” Haruki sighs, arms crossed. He shakes his head for good measure, and, on the inside, Keiji agrees. These sorts of things are out of their control, though. “And Sarukui is running late, too! It’s like these reunions don’t even matter!”

“You ran away from your manager.”

“Sarukui!” Akinori raises his glass in greeting, Yamato pausing to reciprocate the gesture before sitting down. “Glad you could join us!”

“What about Shirofuku and Suzumeda?” he asks, wiping the condensation on the glass off onto his shirt. “I thought they were coming along, too?”

Conversation drifts and changes, and eventually the six of them are crowded around the table and Keiji remembers that, regardless of how long they spend away from the days of standing on a national stage together, those years are enough to keep them tied together, no matter how tangentially. They’ve changed, but for the better, and Keiji realizes that for as much as he allows himself to think about the past, he’s situated himself quite nicely in the present.

Surrounded by these familiar faces, Keiji feels safe and warm and protected; transported to another place, another time, another universe. He would not want to be anywhere else, know anyone else, be anyone else. They’ve cried together, rose together, fallen together, and gotten back up. Everything was done together.

Years ago, Akaashi Keiji watched Bokuto Koutarou fly through the sky. That moment was a catalyst of the best sort, propelling him towards a future that holds onto him, securely, keeping him grounded. The Akaashi Keiji of this universe can breathe easy.

Reuniting in Yoyogi Gymnasium feels poetic in a silly sort of way, but Keiji takes in a deep breath and absorbs the feeling. This isn’t the first time that they’ll watch Tatsuki and Koutarou play one another on such a grand scale and they’re sure that it won’t be the last. Every game incites the same excitement in them, though. There’s something special about watching an unintentional rivalry rear its head. Tatsuki will raise his arms and Koutarou will seek a way out.

It’s convenient that it’s at Yoyogi, and Keiji holds onto the threads of a promise.

Akinori, beside him, watches the game with an intensity that Keiji likes to think that he understands, but doesn’t. It’s one thing to be enraptured by the intensity of the game—Keiji blinks at the speed and accuracy of Atsumu’s set and swallows the feeling of inadequacy—but another to dig your fingers into the muscles of your thighs and lean forward as you watch a man who you one-sidedly considered your rival stand on a stage you cannot reach.

They have jobs and they have lives that they have moved onto, on towards, but there will always be vestiges of who they were in high school resting in the back of their minds. In no way did any of them rest in the shadow of Koutarou. It was simply that he had shined brighter, harder, and faster than the rest. Akinori’s only shortcoming was that he searched for comfort and a different way to challenge himself. Koutarou, in comparison, had found himself content to continue down the same path. To call them conflicting, opposite forces would do a disservice to all they did for the team.

Keiji thinks that he understands, though. Living with _what if_ ’s are inevitable. A small, quiet part of them will always wonder if, in another life, they could have continued to stand on the court with Koutarou, against Koutarou, for Koutarou. Not long after his first game with the MSBY Black Jackals, Akinori had called Keiji, asked him if he had any regrets or wishes to play again.

Honest, Keiji had said yes. Keiji had said, _Of course_ , but that Koutarou had taught them not to live with any regrets and to chase whatever futures they could grab a hold of, even if they weren’t firm. And Akinori had laughed and said, _Yeah, of course, you’re right, but_ …

But.

And Keiji understood that, too. After spending so many years of your life chasing after something with someone, it’s hard to stop your mind from wandering towards _what if_ ’s. Sitting in the stands, watching your friends play center court, thinking that maybe, in another life, another universe, you’re down there, too. But this is the world, the universe, the Tokyo that they live in, and there’s no changing that. And acceptance is inevitable, and Keiji relaxes as the slope of Akinori’s shoulders descends into a sort of gentleness.

Five sets have never felt so long, and Keiji is leaning forward in his seat, elbows pressed into his thighs until the game ends, Tatsuki’s arm wrapped around Koutarou’s shoulders as they laugh together, sound so loud it even reaches the stands where they all sit, watching with a sort of reverence. _Those are my teammates_ , they all think. Not _were_ , but _are_ , because the bonds they all share aren’t so easily broken. If time and distance hadn’t separated them, then labels won’t, either.

“You must be glad,” Kaori rocks back onto her heels with a grin, “that you don’t have to travel far for this one, huh?”

“Yes, well,” Keiji skims an email from Tenma before stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket, “it is close to a deadline. It’s more convenient than traveling to Sendai was.”

“You go, anyways.” Yuki peers over Kaori’s shoulders with a teasing sort of smile, hands clasped behind her back. All their heads turn and Keiji nods. If there’s nothing stopping him, why _wouldn’t_ he go to Koutarou’s games? “You’re the dedicated sort. It would be weirder if you didn’t go, I think.”

“Would it?”

“Sure,” Haruki closes the playerbook in his hand before waving it in Keiji’s face. They’ve always seen the truth, not that they were trying to hide it. “Even if you two aren’t playing together, it’s still you and Bokuto against the world, isn’t it? It’s not like you’re a package deal. It’s more like…”

Yamato laughs while he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards a steadily growing form that races towards them. “You’re not a package deal, but the two of you just work well together, don’t you?”

“I think we all work well together,” admits Keiji. And it’s the truth. They wouldn’t have gotten as far—this far—if they didn’t work well together. All of them stand here, together, because they worked. They work. Something about them feels like a once in a lifetime sort of gathering. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here, right?”

“Hey!” Koutarou shouts. “Hey, everyone!”

Reuniting at Yoyogi Gymnasium brings them back to a point in time, before delicately, nicely, pleasantly, pulling them back to the present. The lives that they all lead, now, are intertwined by choice, rather than fate. Life is unpredictable, but in a nice sort of way. Once upon a time, Keiji lived in fear of the future and the changes that it brought with it.

These days, Keiji finds that he looks forward to it.

Being together, all of them, is nice, but Keiji finds that, these days, he doesn’t mind being extra selfish. Life is full of lessons and ups and downs. Tonight is just another one. The dinner is chaos, though the owner is happy to see them all. Her memory serves her better than Tatsuki’s does him, who stares at her without a hint of recognition. They’re the pride of this region though, and Keiji cannot blame the people who whisper without discretion of the success of Fukurodani.

Tatsuki and Koutarou puff out their chests and smile bright—pose for pictures and sign napkins and laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny. These are masks that people he knows will wear in times of confusion or discomfort or _need_ , and Keiji will always be grateful for the way they handle interruptions with grace. He could not—cannot—as much as people believe in him. Only people with an earnest sort of personality can exist in such a fast-paced world.

Fukurodani has always been the sort of school to hold its head high. Following the North Star— _his_ North Star, with broad shoulders and a comforting smile and an energy so infectious in the best and worst sorts of ways—Keiji had made himself a home and found his name, before leaving and learning all over again. At Fukurodani he had stood amongst monsters and men. That time had placed a strong pride on a pedestal in his heart.

_I set for them_ , Keiji thinks. _I won beside them_.

People had warned him—that Keiji is Icarus and he strayed too close to the sun. And he cannot deny that. Keiji had seen the sun and longed for its warmth. He crafted wings out of wax and feathers and jumped, soaring close enough that the heat of the sun wrapped around his hands, holding him suspended in the air, before letting go. Keiji fell, and fell, and fell some more, before crashing into the ocean, just missing the shore.

After catching his breath, he had pulled himself back to land and learned to stand again. And because Koutarou is the sun, Keiji never had to walk without him or his warmth. He just had to learn how to exist at a distance. For years, he has chased after Koutarou’s back, no matter how closer or far he has been. Even right in front of him, something about Koutarou feels far away. He can press their palms together, close his eyes, and listen to him speak, and there will still be an insurmountable distance between them.

For a while, they talk. About nothing, about everything. About the stars in Osaka, even if they’re the same ones Keiji pretends to see in Tokyo, and about Koutarou’s neighbor down the hall who owns a small dog who won’t settle down, even at two in the morning.

“I’ve learned to sleep with earplugs,” Koutarou laughs against Keiji’s palm before pressing a kiss against his wrist. “I keep losing them when I sleep, though.”

“Then you’re not wearing them right.” Keiji closes his eyes, exhaling as Koutarou presses another kiss to his wrist. This is comfortable. The distance between them is _meant_ to be insurmountable. He’ll never know everything about Koutarou, no matter how long and how hard he tries. And that’s fine. It’s how things are meant to be. “You can get earplugs molded to your ear, probably… Those would help with that issue.”

When he opens his eyes, Koutarou is beaming, his smile barely visible in the darkness of the room. For so many years, Keiji watched his back. It’s something else, something nicer, being able to look him in the eyes and listen to his voice and sit here in quiet. A not so long time ago, Keiji was a young boy, who grew into a man. He was a boy who chased after the stars and now he’s a man who holds one in his arms. Keiji no longer searches for a way to keep up. Even if their paths run in parallel, they walk side by side.

“I wish I could be here more often,” Koutarou whispers. His free hand runs across the covers, a whisper. “I’m so far away.”

“I don’t mind,” taking a breath, Keiji smiles, “and I don’t think you do, either. It’s nice that we’re being ourselves. Me, an editor, and you, just a normal, reliable ace.”

Koutarou blinks into the darkness. It’s too loud in the silence, but Keiji doesn’t mind. He never has, really. “Yeah, I guess I am, huh? Just a normal, reliable ace.” Sucking in a deep breath, he laughs, quieter this time. “ _Your_ normal, reliable ace.”

Keiji’s mother will tell him, in the future, where he is surrounded with friends and family and wrapped up in happiness, that a fortune teller had said when he was young, that there would be a man, represented by the sun, and a future, represented by a flowing river. With light and water, life can flourish—a field can bloom into a garden with careful care and cultivation. Bokuto Koutarou is a sun, too bright, and Akaashi Keiji’s future is a fast-flowing river. With time, and with patience and learning, on the shore, flowers began to bloom, and grow, and spread.

And, in the future, in a different place, far away from here, Keiji will think that staring at Koutarou’s back for so many years was worth the wait.


End file.
